white_little_pony

There was a time when The Nightmare King had hope for the future. He had to scavenge for the flames of fallen kingdoms to sustain his heart, of course, but that was only to keep himself alive. He always had time--time to find nightmare flames to sustain himself, time to explore, time to enjoy his newfound freedom. He could hope for a brighter future. He could hope for a future where he traveled and went on adventures. A future where he took in those just as lost as he once was and gave them a home to call their own. A future where he could perform for an audience.

Perhaps a nice future once he was able to heal his heart, where he could bring a child into this world like he'd always wanted.

The Nightmare King looked down at the dear child in his arms--his dear, sweet child--with tears in his eyes. This was a rare moment, a moment where he had the time to actually be with his child in his realm. Now he never had any time. Now he was constantly racing against it--managing The Nightmare Realm, managing The Troupe, sending bugs out to find dead kingdoms from which he can have them gather enough flame in time for the ritual. Even now, with his child in his arms, he felt guilty. He felt guilty for spending this time with them when every second was vital to keeping them alive. He felt guilty for not spending enough time with them, constantly away from his child and fearful that he was neglecting them.

He felt guilty for bringing them into the world like this.

They deserved so much better than this. They deserved to be free, to go wherever they wanted and do as they pleased. They deserved a life. They were a god, yet they would never even be able to live out a normal mortal lifespan. Their flame would always have to start anew far too early. They would be forced to scavenge to survive, always running against the clock, forever. He held back a sob, very careful not to alert his child to his distress. He did this to them, he brought them into the world like this. They were innocent, yet they were paying for his own mistakes.

The Nightmare King no longer had hope for the future, only a yearning. A yearning to fix this. A yearning to set this right. A yearning to give his child the life that they deserved. A desperate, frantic yearning for some miracle that millennia of frenzied searching had never been able to provide. He owed Grimm that much. His child did not ask to be brought into this world, nor did his child ask to be brought back from the dead. The Nightmare King was the one that had made that decision--and his poor child was the one who had to live with the consequences of it.

With a shuttering breath The Nightmare King held his child closer to him and made them the same silent promise he'd made them time and time again.

He would give them the life that they deserved.